Monthly Calendar Report for July, 2011

The Levin Es at Railfest. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

―The July 2011 entry of my own calendar is my Railfest picture. For the past few years, Railfest in Altoona, PA (“al-TUNE-uh;” as in the name “Al”) has been during the month of July.
Railfest will not be in July this year.
In fact, there was consternation as to whether there would be a Railfest at all.
It will return to October, and won’t be what it’s been in the past.
All it is is two railfan excursions, one to Harrisburg, and one toward Pittsburgh.
They will include rare-mileage segments of all freight-only, including Nittany & Bald Eagle, which isn’t even Norfolk Southern.
Nittany & Bald Eagle, from Tyrone (“tie-RONE”) to Lock Haven, is actually Pennsy’s old Bald Eagle branch. It was sold and became a short-line.
Although Norfolk Southern uses it to move unit coal-trains; so it’s maintained to that level.
Altoona was the Pennsylvania Railroad’s shop-town; it came into existence because of the railroad, and eventually employed thousands. It was at the base of the grade over the Allegheny mountains.
My 2011 calendar is the same pictures in the 2012 calendar I did for Tunnel Inn, the bed-and-breakfast we stay at in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin”) when in the Altoona area.
Altoona is the location of the Pennsylvania Railroad’s crossing of the Allegheny mountains, including famous Horseshoe Curve (the “Mighty Curve”), by far the BEST railfan spot I’ve ever been to.
Horseshoe Curve is now a national historic site. It was a trick by the railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades — the railroad was looped around a valley to stretch out the climb. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use.
I’m a railfan, and have been since age-two (I’m 67). The viewing-area is smack in the apex of the Curve; and trains are willy-nilly. Up-close-and personal. —I’ve been there hundreds of times, since it’s only about five hours away.
That 2011 calendar I did for Tunnel Inn crashed; the post-office lost the order.
We did a 2012 calendar with the same pictures Tunnel Inn can sell throughout the year.
The picture was taken a few years ago at a previous Railfest.

A Conrail Executive E on its Business-train.

The locomotive pictured is one of two EMD E-units owned and restored by Bennett Levin and son Eric at Juniata Terminal. (“June-eee-AT-uh.”)
They were previously the E-units used on Conrail’s Executive Business Train — given up when CSX and Norfolk Southern took over their segments of Conrail when it was broken up and sold.
The locomotives were restored to Pennsylvania Railroad colors — I think one locomotive was actually Erie-Lackawanna.
That means Tuscan-red (“tuss-kin;” not “Tucson” Arizona). All Pennsy passenger equipment (all passenger-cars and many locomotives) was Tuscan-red, as were many houses in Altoona — you figure it out.
The Levin Es were brought in to take a train from Altoona up and around Horseshoe Curve, and then back down.
There is a loop at the top of The Hill in Gallitzin for the train to to come back down locomotives first. The loop was originally for Hill helpers; it still exists.
The train had just come down, eastbound, and we are back in Altoona.
I hiked up front to snag this photograph.
The E-units are about to be cut off and reversed to the other train-end.
Things were rather disorganized.
Railfest’s web-site claimed the trips were sold out, but most seats in our coach were unoccupied.
My brother, his wife, and my railfan nephew were also there, and could have ridden the train.
What they did was chase it; up to Gallitzin, and back down to Altoona.
The main highway is on the opposite side of the valley the railroad uses.
My nephew had my brother screech to a stop on that highway so he could take a picture across that valley.
The October Railfest excursions will be powered by the Levin E-units pictured.



WOW!

—The July 2011 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is undeniably the coolest hotrod in the calendar. It’s a 1932 Ford Three-Window coupe.

The Milner coupe from American Graffiti is a five-window.

”Three-Window” means it only has three windows beside the windshield.
There’s no window behind the door-post — as in the Milner coupe from American Graffiti.
If there were, it would be a “Five-Window.”
Three windows are coolest; very basic and spare — the lightest weight possible.
Yet the car has a hot-rodded Chevrolet Small-Block V8, what hotrodders gravitated to instead of the Ford Flat-head V8.

Photo by BobbaLew.

A Ford Flat-head (note flat cylinder-head casting).

Flat-head meant side-valve, like a basic lawnmower engine, except water-cooled.
Easy to manufacture, but contorted valve-passages, which restricted engine-breathing and horsepower.
Yet hot-rodders extracted a lot of horsepower out of the old Flat-head.
The Flat-head pictured has Offenhauser (“off-en-HOUZE-rrr”) cylinder-heads, which raised compression-ratio, and were lighter cast-aluminum.
They were also finned, unlike the stock heads on a Flat-head Ford.
But the revolutionary Small-Block Chevrolet V8, introduced in the 1955 model-year, put the Flat-head out to pasture.
The Small-Block was overhead valve, and with its light-weight valve-gear, could rev like the dickens.
Like the Flat-head, it was also cheap and available. And like the Flat-head it responded well to hot-rodding.
The Chevrolet “Small-Block” V8 (also known as the “mouse”-motor) was introduced at 265 cubic-inches displacement in the 1955 model-year. It continued production for years, first to 283 cubic inches, then 327, then 350. Other displacements were also manufactured.
The Chevrolet “Big-Block” V8 (also known as the “rat”-motor) was introduced in the 1965 model-year at 396 cubic-inches, and was unrelated to the Small-Block. It was made in various larger displacements: 402, 427 and 454 cubic inches.
It’s still made as a truck-motor, but not installed in cars any more; although you can get it as a crate-motor, for self-installation.
The “Big-Block” could be immensely powerful, and the “Small-Block” was revolutionary in its time.
This car is the quintessential ‘60s hotrod.
What’s nice is it’s steel, and full-fendered.
One wonders if it’s an essentially stock Ford product.
Many parts are now available in steel, even the frame.
So you can make a non-Ford ‘32 hotrod yourself.
The front axle is “dropped.”
That means the original front beam-axle was re-bent at the ends so the front of the car could sit lower relative to the wheels.
Tube-steel beam axles were also available that “dropped” the front-end.
The rear-end is at stock height, although the rear-axle is Ford Nine-Inch.
No way could a stock ’32 Banjo rear-end take the output of that Chevy motor.
(“Banjo” because the cast-iron center differential-casing of the rear axle looked like a banjo.)
So the car ends up “raked” — lower in front — dropping down from rear to front.
It was a look everyone mimicked in the ‘60s.
I also note a Clay Smith decal, the enraged cigar-chomping Woody woodpecker.
What we have here is an extremely well-done hotrod.
Purest of the pure, slam-dunk desirable.



Mixed freight on Stoney Battery Trestle. (Photo by Brad Brenneman.)

―Quite a few of the photographs in my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar are extraordinary.

Photo by Ty Burgin.

My June entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar.

Photo by BobbaLew.

The June entry of my own calendar.

The one last month was so good, I made it number-one, beating even my own calendar-picture, one of the best photographs I’ve ever snagged.
The one above is a Norfolk Southern mixed freight crossing Stoney Battery Trestle in Troutville, VA.
Trestles are costly to maintain. A railroad tries to avoid them.
But sometimes the lay-of-the-land isn’t conducive to just laying track on terra-firma.
A defile might be in the way, so it gets crossed by a trestle.
This trestle looks about 100 feet high, maybe less.
One can imagine that years ago the railroad descended the defile-side, crossed the defile at grade-level, and then climbed back up the other side.
Doing so involves twisting curvature often not in the overall direction the train is traveling, braking down the one side, and then climbing back out — often requiring helper locomotives.
An operating nightmare.
So a trestle might be built to cross the defile more directly.
Often as railroads first built, they followed the lay-of-the-land, the path of least resistance, like a river-course.
Later, to speed transit-time, rerouting and straightening might be done, including trestles.
As originally built, Erie Railroad across southern New York, included a difficult grade near Alfred.
A roundabout low-grade bypass was built; it bypassed the Alfred grade.
Just about everything west on Erie was redirected onto that bypass, which required some trestles.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Erie-Lackawanna F-unit and road-switcher west (railroad east) on the Fillmore trestle.

I’ve pictured a trestle on that bypass, which no longer exists.
It was abandoned some time ago, and trestles taken down.
That trestle was not far from my college; I hung around there a lot.
The picture is taken off a highway bridge, since removed, and the segment over the bypass filled in.
Baltimore & Ohio built a giant cut-off in Maryland to bypass a segment of the original mainline along the Potomac River.
—The Magnolia Cut-off. It included a number of major bridges, tunnels and fills. It bypassed the so-called “slow-line,” which followed the Potomac, straightening curvature and reducing grades.
The Potomac gets crossed and recrossed. Ridges get tunneled.
The original mainline followed the course of the river, and wandered all over to avoid ridges.
The Cut-off avoids all that.
The original Pennsy main west of Allegheny summit also wandered all over.
A giant bypass was built in 1898, to avoid all that.
It involved a deep rock cut near Cassandra (“kuh-SANN-druh” as in the name “Anne”).
The line was thereby straightened and rationalized. No longer did Pennsy have to accommodate the original torturous alignment.
As a railroad Erie became defunct. It merged with arch-rival Delaware, Lackawanna & Western in 1960, becoming Erie-Lackawanna.
The Erie west toward Chicago was eventually abandoned; the bypass was no longer needed. (It was just a bypass; it didn’t generate any traffic.)
Railroad freight east was shipped toward Buffalo on the old Nickel Plate — by then Norfolk & Western.
Erie-Lackawanna built giant Bison Yard near Buffalo to take the eastbound freight from Norfolk & Western.
But even that became moribund, as railroad freight gravitated toward the old New York Central main, first Penn-Central, then Conrail, and now CSX.
Bison Yard is now a joke, pretty much abandoned.
About all that’s there is the old Erie main, now Norfolk Southern.



1968 Oldsmobile 4-4-2. (Photo by Ron Kimball©.)

The July 2011 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a yellow 1968 Oldsmobile 4-4-2 convertible.
This is a gorgeous car.
I was tempted to run it ahead of the ’32 Ford, but the Deuce looks better.
“4-4-2” stands for four-barrel carburetor, four-speed transmission, and dual exhausts.
Supposedly the Four-Forty-Two Olds was a really great musclecar, its forte being that it could handle much better than other musclecars.
I don’t know how true this was, but supposedly the other musclecars were crude and unsophisticated, and would reward you with a spinout at the least provocation.
Musclecars were also quite large, the antithesis of the tiny Lotus Elan, which was also fast.

© Serious Wheels.

1971 Lotus Elan.

A musclecar would probably cream the Elan in a straight line, but throw them a curve and the Elan would walk right past.
The musclecar might spin into the boonies.
Its heavy rear axle was often mounted on parallel leaf springs. Goose its mega-motor, and they’d twist, steering the car.
The Four-Forty-Two Olds was supposedly better than that, although I don’t know if that heavy rear axle was any better mounted.
Toss a bump into that corner, and the rear axle jumped. It’s so heavy it took its time reestablishing tire-contact with the pavement — enough time to spin.
An Elan would be all over it.
Of course, that’s not American highways, not what set the design of musclecars. They’re smooth and straight, not the narrow twisting byways in England. (The Elan is a British car.)

Photo by Arthur Siegel.

Woodward Ave.

Photo by Bobbalew.

Not my brother’s car, but identical (same color).

Think Woodward Ave. in Detroit.
The Four-Forty-Two was also available in the 1968 model-year with a “W-30” motor option, 400 cubic inches, 365 horsepower.
That was extraordinary at that time.
My macho brother-in-Boston, who loudly badmouths everything I do or say, has a 1971 454 Chevelle musclecar.
I drove it once.
All I could think of was way too much motor in a flimsy chassis.
Current automobiles are slower, but far less frightening.
A better choice might be the new Mustang with its overhead-cam 32-valve V8.



Geeps lead a train around Horseshoe Curve. (Photo by Gene Collora©.)

—The July 2011 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black and white All-Pennsy Calendar is a shot of three Pennsylvania Railroad GP-9s leading a merchandise freight around Horseshoe Curve in 1960.
“Horseshoe Curve” is of course the famous railfan location mentioned in the first calendar entry — see above.
The three GP-9s are part of a 310-unit order by EMD for the railroad in the late ‘50s.
“EMD” is ElectroMotive Division of General Motors, GM’s manufacturer of diesel railroad-locomotives. Most railroads used EMD when they dieselized; although many now use General-Electric diesel railroad-locomotives.
Pennsy was so slow to dieselize, EMD could not fill their need when they finally decided. —Pennsy was so large, they had to use a slew of diesel-locomotive manufacturers, including some who were unreliable.
This was particularly true of Baldwin, a prime supplier of steam-locomotives for Pennsy. —Baldwin eventually failed.
The most reliable diesel locomotives were EMD. They monopolized the market until recently.
Alco (American Locomotive Company of Schenectady, NY, once a major steam-locomotive manufacturer) was also put out of business, although its locomotives weren’t as reliable as EMD.
The Pennsylvania Railroad was once the largest and most powerful railroad on the planet.
It used to call itself “the Standard Railroad of the World.”
It always paid a stock-dividend.
Part of the reason Teddy Roosevelt pushed through anti-trust legislation was because Pennsy was trying to run the nation’s economy.
Mano-a-mano, Roosevelt versus Pennsy — although it was also Rockefeller’s Standard Oil.

Photo by BobbaLew.

7048 (left) at Horseshoe Curve

Photo by BobbaLew.

K4 Pacific (4-6-2) #1361 on display years ago at Horseshoe Curve. (Look at that gorgeous red keystone number-plate.)

Of interest is that one of the GP-9s of that 310-unit order (#7048, not one of three pictured in the Audio-Visual Designs calendar) eventually became the display locomotive in the Horseshoe Curve viewing-area.
It replaced K4 Pacific (4-6-2) number 1361, built in Altoona, placed there in 1957 at the end of steam locomotion on Pennsy, and pulled back out in 1985 for restoration.
1361 on display was never maintained — they didn’t even have a cap on the stack.
When the front smokebox door was opened, three feet of standing water gushed out.
1361 ran excursions, but was apparently in bad shape.
It eventually crippled.
Railroaders’ Memorial Museum in Altoona, its owner, set about restoring it for operation, but it needed so much work they ran out of funds.
Now a verbal donnybrook has arisen as to whether it will actually be restored to operation.
It might just be a cosmetic restoration, not operable, and it’s still apart (or was recently).
It was being worked on at Steamtown in Scranton, PA, and the last time I saw it, it was in pieces.
(Steamtown has a steam-locomotive shop.)
Even the firebox backhead was off.
And a new smokebox had to be fabricated from the old smokebox as template.
The running-gear and driving-wheels were separated from the boiler.
Replacing it at the Curve with a GP-9 is a bit out of kilter, but at least the Geep is Pennsy black, with Pennsy gold lettering. It had been Conrail blue.
It’s rusty in my picture, but the red keystone is still there; now it’s gone, gone with its recent repaint.
The GP-9 is also outside, so like the K4 beholden to the elements.
That Curve photograph is one of the best I’ve ever snagged.

Photo by BobbaLew.

Nope!

I tried to shoot it again recently, and failed.
For one thing that gorgeous red keystone is gone, plus shrubbery has grown up along the tracks, partially blocking the train in the photograph at left.
Sadly, the Curve is not maintained like the Museum in downtown Altoona, yet the Curve is what attracts railfans like me.
The soot from passing steam-locomotives kept the greenery down.
Now that it’s no longer steam-locomotives, the fast-growing greenery is ruining the Curve, which to me is by far the BEST railfan spot I’ve ever been to.
7048 is okay, but it’s not a K4 Pacific, Altoona’s beautiful legacy.



War-baby. (Photo by Jim Schmidt.)

The July 2011 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is a Pennsy J1a built in 1943.
I’ll let the calendar-caption explain things:
“Wartime restrictions prevented the development of a new design of freight locomotives, so PRR was required to adapt an existing design to its purposes. Pennsy's J1 and J1a class engines were based on the Chesapeake & Ohio Class T-1 (2-10-4) design, which PRR had tested on its Pittsburgh Division.”

Photo by C.L. Kayleib.©

A Norfolk & Western A (2-6-6-4).

A Chesapeake & Ohio T-1 Texas (2-10-4).

Pennsy tried two outside alternatives, Norfolk & Western’s fabulous A class articulated, and the C&O T.
They chose the T, partly because Pennsy abhorred articulateds. Articulateds were perceived as a maintenance challenge. Better to just add additional engines, which is additional crews, but Pennsy was so traffic-intensive they could afford to.
So a J, being a slightly modified C&O T, lacks the trademark square-hipped Belpaire firebox (see below), found on all Pennsy steam-locomotives.
It’s also “SuperPower,” a marketing ploy by Lima Locomotive Company, Lima, OH (“lye-muh;” not “lee-muh”), the goal of which was incredible steam capacity, for fast running.
I.e. A SuperPower steam-locomotive wouldn’t run out of steam at high speed. The boiler could keep up with demand.
SuperPower is a late ‘20s and early ‘30s development, and Pennsy didn’t develop a modern steam locomotive then. Investment was in electrification.
Pennsy got along with steam-locomotives from the teens and ‘20s, often by doubling locomotives, which they could afford.

A Belpaire Firebox on a Pennsy engine.

But when WWII came along, with its incredible power-demands, Pennsy was unprepared. They were saddled with old and tired steam-locomotives.
And wartime restrictions wouldn’t let them develop their own replacements.
The J is Pennsy’s only SuperPower steam-locomotive, although Pennsy later included SuperPower principles in their designs.
But with 10 driving-wheels it suffered from what all 10-drivered locomotives suffer from — namely that long heavy side-rod assembly that hammered the rail as it rotated up-and-down. (Look at the size of that counterweight on the center driver.)
A J could boom-and-zoom, but could the rail take it?
A solution was the “duplex.” Four cylinders powering one driver-set, which massively reduced side-rod weight by reducing the number of side-rods.
But the duplex, like articulateds, had its own challenges; like one driver-set could break adhesion and start spinning. Everything had to be backed off to stop it.



(Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The July 2011 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is not much, just a nice photograph of a Ryan trainer.
The Ryan Recruit was the U.S. Army Air Corps’ first monoplane primary trainer. (There was no Air Force yet — not until 1947.) —Monoplane meaning single-wing. (The Stearman was a biplane [“bye-plane;” I only include that because yrs trly was mispronouncing it “bip-lane.” —My earliest pronunciation of “antique” was “aunty-kue”].)
Initial testing of a single Ryan S-T-A (Sport-Trainer-A) resulted in an order for 15 more aircraft, re-designated the YPT-16, for evaluation in 1939.
Finding this tandem two-seater to be an excellent design, the Army Air Corps ordered a production batch of 30 aircraft, designated the PT-20.
In 1941, the Army decided a new more powerful engine was needed to endure the rigors of training new pilots. Ryan Aeronautical replaced the inline engine of the previous version with a Kinner radial engine. The resulting PT-21 was so superior that many PT-16s and PT-20s were upgraded with the new engine, becoming PT-16As and PT-20As.
With flight training programs expanding across the country, 1,023 more planes were ordered. These had an improved Kinner radial, no wheel spats, and deletion of the main landing gear fairings. This became the PT-22.
The Navy also ordered Recruits and re-designated them as NR-1s. The Navy used these trainers until 1944, and the Army Air Corps would retire the Recruit at the end of WWII.
The airplane pictured is a PT-22; one of about 85 still flying. It has the Kinner radial.
I’ve never thought much of these trainer aircraft, all cables and exposed braces and non-retractable landing gear.
I was tempted to not include it. Yet if I didn’t, my airplane fans might justifiably go ballistic.
Trainers are hardly the beautiful hotrods the Mustang is. But most Mustang pilots had a basic trainer in their past like this Ryan. Followed by a North American Texan.
(The Texan was a recent Ghosts calendar-entry.)
These docile airplanes were what first pilot-training was in, so are important even though ungainly and unattractive.
A Mustang or even a P-40 was more appealing. But they were so fast and powerful you couldn’t make mistakes.
A Mustang could reward you with death; yet a Recruit might only scare you.